Car Wash Blue
by SassyJ
Summary: Jo becomes mixed up in a Specialist Trafficking case when Stu turns to her for help.
1. Chapter 1

After shift I joined the queue at the carwash. My car was filthy, and I just wanted some time to dawdle and think. A car wash is a good place to accomplish this. You move slowly through the sections and get washed and wiped, whilst getting a twenty-minute breather to think with no outside interference.

I'd turned off my mobile. I just wanted to sit and think, and get washed and wiped along the way. So I sat and thought. Thought about how the job was changing and how I wasn't entirely sure I liked the new regime.

Superintendent Heaton had moved on, had been head-hunted to form a Specialist Trafficking Unit, and he had, in turn, head-hunted Stuart Turner and Kezia Walker to join him. So not only had the top of the station changed, but my best friend had gone too.

It was only when Stuart was gone that I realised just how much I really did miss him. We hadn't worked a case together in a while, but still we did things together, had had each other's backs. Then some three months after leaving the station, he'd returned. After a fashion: flat on his back in St Hugh's with a broken leg. Even having his right leg in a cast from the hip to toe hadn't slowed his copper's instincts.

But I sensed something wasn't right with him. Stuart had grown quiet and reticent in a way he never had been before. Stuart Turner was the poster boy for self-belief, and he could be a fearless self-promoter. Nowadays he seemed anxious and slightly confused, which wasn't my sometimes bombastic best friend's style at all. Something which shook his confidence that badly had to be a major problem. I spent a lot of time attempting to cheer him up, and then protecting him from Stevie's wrath when he insisted on sticking his nose into the case which he had uncovered at St Hugh's. So we skirted all round his troubles, he recovered from his injury, and went back to work; I had the feeling that there was something which was going to come back to bother us, and he would tell me in his own time. We had had dinner twice since his return to work. I was still waiting.

All of which leads me neatly to my own troubles: the unsettled feeling that the changes at the top had left me with, and then there was Stevie. I would stand shoulder to shoulder with Stevie Moss on any investigation; she's clever, fearless, intuitive and caring. But standing behind her and following her lead is another matter entirely. I could never doubt her loyalty, her commitment, or her copper's nose; it's more a case of doubting her objectivity. Okay, maybe Stu's detachment was a step too far in the opposite direction, as sometimes he came across as unfeeling or insensitive. But Stevie's passion was perhaps too involved. Too close. It left me, and some of the others, feeling unsettled. We love Stevie, we want to give her a chance in her new role as DS, but...crucially, there's that but.

Back to me, in the thought bubble of the car wash. My car door opened and I nearly jumped out of my skin. I glanced down, where a hand was wiping a cloth around the inside of my door frame. The hand had a grubby bandage wound round it, but I knew that hand anywhere. Startled, I looked from the hand to the owner's face. Very anxious brown eyes met mine.

"I'm in trouble," he muttered. "Big trouble."

The shock was so great it was a wonder I retained enough sense not to speak his name aloud and presumably blow his cover to smithereens. But the sight of DS Stuart Turner undercover was a major jolt. I yanked my brains back into some kind of order.

"My place, after dark," I muttered.

He actually looked back over his shoulder, his features gripped in the tension of paranoia, and my stomach tightened at the sight. But he nodded and moved along to the back door. I paid, and drove away. Glancing in the rear view mirror, I could see those dark eyes were watching me. Even from fifty feet and moving further away, I could sense the stress in his body language.

I drove home. I made myself some dinner, and started on my laundry as if it were an ordinary night after shift. Outside it grew dark, and I found myself completely unable to settle. The memory of the fear in Stuart's eyes was unnerving.

About an hour after dark, when my nerves had been stretched tight as piano wire, there came a muffled thud from the back garden. As I happened to be in the kitchen at the time, I peered out of the window to see what it was. A dark shape detached itself from the wall and headed towards the steps up to the kitchen door. I yanked open the back door and _he_ was standing there.

I grabbed his arm and pulled him inside, and got my first proper look at him since I had last seen him two weeks ago.

"Stu!" I looked him over in horror. He looked thinner than when I had last seen him at our dinner three weeks ago; his clothes, a brownish zip-up hooded top and a pair of worn-looking cargo pants, were damp and dirty. He was unshaven, and when I pulled him into a hug I realised he hadn't washed all that recently either. He hugged me back as though his life depended on it.

"Jo... I..."

"Explanations can wait." I let go, and fighting the urge to wrinkle my nose, I checked him out from head to foot. He looked in need of a square meal, a hot bath and a decent night's sleep. And he was going to get them, no arguments accepted.

First things first. I bent over my laundry basket, my grey towelling robe on top, and dug down to find a couple of towels. I handed these to him. "Every last stitch, Stu," I insisted as I discreetly turned my back and started to pour out some soap for the washing machine. I could hear him starting to pull his clothes off. I turned back in time to catch sight of the bruises on the right hand side of his body as he pulled my robe on with some difficulty.

"Stu!"

He actually looked more anxious, and then he shrugged. I wasn't having that. "Stu?" I moved closer, and gently pushed the v of the robe open a little. From what I could see his shoulder, upper arm, the right hand side of his torso and extending down his rib cage were all covered in bruises. I put my hand on his bare shoulder. There I could feel the heat from the bruise, and he winced when I touched it.

"What happened?"

"I'm in too deep, Jo. Honestly, I don't know what I'm doing and they're getting inside info from somewhere."

I stared at him. Something of my disbelief must have showed in my face**, **because he shrugged again, and turned away slightly.

"What does your handler say about this?"

"Who, Weston? Nothing... she thinks I'm just being paranoid."

"Presumably you last spoke with her before _this_ happened?" I indicated his bruises. He said nothing. I peered at him. "You haven't told her about this, have you?"

"No." He gave me a bit of a defiant look, as though he were a child goading a parent into an argument. I gave him one of my best stares, dropped his dirty clothes next to the washing machine, and indicated that he ought to come upstairs with me.

I ran a hot bath, adding a generous dollop of the Radox bath foam I usually used after particularly rough days. The effects are little more than psychosomatic, but I hoped the aroma would make him feel better at least. I had to help him off with the robe, and he climbed into the bath with some considerable difficulty. But he settled into the foamy water with a contented sigh, which I suspect was mostly faked for my benefit.

"Stu."

"Jo." He slid down and closed his eyes. "Don't fuss."

I was entitled to fuss. My best friend had been beaten to a pulp, so I was going to fuss over him.

I left him to it for now, and turned my attention to getting something hot and nourishing on the stove, and his really filthy and smelly clothes into the washing machine. I methodically emptied his pockets, turning up a small notebook carefully and tightly wrapped in a loose-change bag, and a pencil...the sort you get from the bookmakers. A few coins, a half-eaten sandwich wrapped in cling film. No mobile and no wallet. He was surviving on the streets on little more than his wits. And it didn't require the brain of Einstein to figure out that he had stretched himself far too far.

I was looking at the half a Lancashire Hot Pot I was re-heating in the oven when there was a muffled thud overhead, and a hastily suppressed yelp. "STU!" I shut the oven door with a slam, and came running.

He was sitting on the bath mat, huddled into my bathrobe, clutching his left knee. He was bent over, covering it, so I crouched down beside him to get a better look.

The sight of the bruises on his shoulder and side had distracted me, so I hadn't thought to look for bodily damage elsewhere. The grubby bandage, now soaking wet, was still wrapped around his right hand, but his left knee was my immediate worry. Another bruise, but this one had four distinct puncture wounds.

"Stu." I glared at him, I couldn't help it. "This is a dog bite." Very gently I laid a hand on the bruising, but even that light touch made him flinch and draw in a hissing breath.

Suddenly an impossible idea flashed into my head, a horrible suspicion.

"Stu... how did you get this?"

He eyed me as though he were gauging how much he could tell me. I didn't know whether to feel relieved or annoyed.

"I had no proof," he said finally. "I had to go looking for some."

The horrible suspicion was turning into a reality. He'd had no mobile and no wallet for a reason. "Weston has absolutely no idea where you are or what you're doing... does she?" I demanded.

He had the grace to look slightly ashamed, but a little shifty at the same time. "No. She doesn't."

"Go on." I sat down next to him, not about to let him off the hook. He had involved me, so I needed to know.

"I'm suspended, Jo." He looked even more ashamed. "I know there's an inside connection. But neither Weston or Heaton would believe me. I pushed it and Heaton suggested I take time away to rest. In their words, _I'm unfit for duty due to stress_." His laugh was bitter.

"So you decided to carry on, on your own?"

He nodded. "I went back to Fallon's place, and tried to find a way in. The dogs were out so I had to get out of there fast, and one caught me." He raised his bandaged hand slightly. "I cut my hand going over the fence, and fell heavily, which is where all the bruising came from."

I couldn't believe my ears. "When did all this happen?"

"Three nights ago."

"And where have you been sleeping?"

He shifted slightly and winced. "On a sofa in a lock-up storage unit."

"For three nights? Stu, are you mad?"

"Can't go home...I'm pretty sure I'm being watched."

"Well, if Fallon's men see all those bruises, they'll know for certain that it was you."

"I know...but I don't know what else to do?! Fallon's bringing in children." He looked me directly in the eye for the first time. "He's selling them on the streets, Jo..."


	2. Chapter 2

It was definitely a _first things first _situation. There was nothing I could do about Stu's sudden foray into the wild side. But his injuries I could do something about. "If you won't let me call a doctor, whether you like it or not, I am fixing your leg." I could feel the heat radiating from his knee as I inspected the damage closely. "Stu, this is infected."

He eyed me slightly sourly. "I know... I've been feeling sick and feverish all day."

I got to my feet and started to round up first aid supplies from around the flat. He levered himself up onto the bathroom stool with a groan, and I crouched down to examine the bite mark. I gave him my best glare. "This is going to hurt." I said, as I wrung out the soft cloth and started to clean the puncture wounds. There was no point in being tentative about it. The hot water softened the scabs, and the four holes in his leg started to ooze. He flinched and winced a bit at it, but I was relentless. "Another five minutes and you would be into septicaemia." I looked up from my unpleasant task. "I hope you've had a tetanus shot recently!" I looked up; his expression was carefully neutral. I changed the water, rinsed out the cloth, and continued my work.

It was nasty. He needed a doctor and antibiotics, but as he was desperate to avoid both, I did the best I could. I flushed the wounds out and dressed them.

I finished up, and we made our way downstairs. I put the hot pot in front of him and he tucked in. I could tell from the way he was eating that he had not had hot food in a while. I was just putting the kettle on to boil when my mobile rang.

I read the caller id as I answered. A cold feeling of dread swept through me. It was a conversation I'd dreaded, but had been half-expecting since I had pulled Stuart into my kitchen. I answered and listened. When the caller had finished speaking, I begged him for time. He didn't want to give it to me, but I begged and pleaded. Finally he agreed.

Stu looked up as I re-entered the kitchen. "Was that...?" he said quietly.

I nodded, and cleared my throat twice. "They want me to arrest you. Take you in to Sun Hill."

"I know." He looked down at his plate.

"They've given us a little time." I picked up the pan with the custard, poured a generous helping over the apple pie, and set it down in front of him. "Until tomorrow morning."

He nodded and put a hand out, taking hold of mine. His fingers were cold and trembling, but his voice was steady: "You have to do it, Jo."

I knew that, and with the FME on hand at the station, it wouldn't hurt to get him the medical attention he needed either. But the benefits didn't make it any easier. I finished feeding him, wondering if I had actually opened my very own Canley Home for Stray Police Officers. We both washed up, and I took him upstairs to bed. I was going to give him my spare bed. I stood on the landing looking at the closest friend I had. His career was hanging by a thread, the sword of Damocles hanging over both our heads, and all I could feel was that I wanted him closer to me tonight. It wasn't as though we hadn't shared a bed several times before, usually when we were drunk. So I changed my mind then and there about the sleeping arrangements.

He followed me without question. We readied for bed, and got in side by side. His recent experiences had exhausted him, so he was asleep in minutes. I lay there wondering what I could honestly do about any of this. Stu was a long way out of his depth. Heaton had been more resigned than furious, but he was adamant. I had to bring Stuart in, cuffed. Heaton wanted to get the message across: Stu was off the case. And if he persisted, he was off the force.

I cuddled a little closer to Stu. I had never seen him like this. The gash in his palm needed stitches, the dog bite was infected, and his hand probably was as well. I had done little more than clean the cut and dress it, doing nothing for the more insidious side effects of his misfortunes. Stu was exhausted, strung out and operating solely on nerves.

So, in sum, I was supposed to slap the cuffs on Stuart Turner and bring him into the station, whatever the emotional strain of being returned to Sun Hill in handcuffs would do to him. Heaton was adamant, and though I hated to admit it, he was right: Stu simply had to be taken out of play. He wasn't equipped to deal with this stuff. But there was more to it than that. Instinctively I knew he hadn't hit the self-destruct button for his own purposes. There was some imperative deep down inside him driving this, something which would get him killed. Because however good a copper he was, and Stu was a very good copper, he was just not sufficiently trained or a good enough deceiver to pull this off.

I awoke at six-thirty the next morning feeling tense and tired, with absolutely no idea when I finally fell asleep. Stu was already awake. I could see from his expression that even a good night's sleep hadn't really taken the edge off the strain. I fetched his clean clothes from the dryer, we dressed and made breakfast, we ate it, we washed up like a regular domestic couple.

And all the time, running through my head was the truth of what I had to do to my best friend. I've never wanted to do anything less in my life.

I spun it out. The ache inside of me was growing. But finally, we had to go. I hung up the tea towel and turned around.

Stu caught the expression on my face. He hesitated a second, wandered over to my handbag and picked up my cuffs.

We were three feet apart. He held my gaze as he snapped the cuff around his left wrist. He gave me a somewhat wobbly smile, and then he turned round and put his hands behind his back. He was trying to make it easy on me, but it really wasn't working. I fully appreciated what it was costing him. So I stepped forward and gently closed the cuff around his right wrist, and as I put my hand on his arm I could feel him shivering. Whether that was stress or the fact that he was ill, I wouldn't like to say. This was tough on him, certainly, but it was tearing me apart too.

I helped him into my car, fastened his seatbelt, and drove him to the station. We walked up the ramp together. I had hold of his arm again and I could feel the shakes building within him. He was doing his best to hold it together for my sake. We reached Custody. Callum Stone was on duty, and he booked Stuart in. I took off the cuffs, Stu surreptitiously tugging his sleeve down to cover the bandage round his hand, and I wondered at that. Callum kept silent, and let me walk Stu round to the cell.

We reached the doorway, and he turned. I couldn't help it; I couldn't just put him in a cell and walk away. I stepped forward and put my arms around him. His arms came round me and he leaned into me for a second and we hugged, then he stepped inside and I locked the door, wrote his name up on the board outside, and Heaton's underneath. Leaving him locked up and walking away was hard.

I headed towards CID, trying not to worry too much about Stu. I had enough problems of my own, and at least he was safe whilst locked up downstairs. As I pushed open the doors, DI Manson was standing outside his office, with Inspector Weston and a man I didn't recognise.

"Ah, Jo." Manson was looking at me in that way that told me I wasn't going to like what he had to say. "I would like you to assist DI Weston and DS Cope." Cope moved towards me, his hand held out towards me.

"Hello. DS James Cope. DC Masters, I've heard a lot about you." There was something about him that I didn't take to. Call it loyalty to Stuart, call it my copper's nose, call it whatever you will, but this guy was too smooth. Stu was temperamental and feisty, a ruthless self-promoter and often cocky and arrogant. But Stu had a heart. He threw himself into cases with boundless energy, and he gave everything he had to nick the bad guys.

Cope emphasized his title. I picked up the stressed inflections in his voice as he rubbed his rank in. And I didn't like that at all. There was a certain triumph in his expression. It didn't take me five minutes to work out that his smugness was about having one up on Stu.

Fair enough. Stu could be the same on occasion, but this was not the time. Stu had risked his life on the streets. I sensed that this guy wasn't about that at all.

I struggled to concentrate through the day. I wasn't privy to Heaton's interview with Stu. I could guess what had been said, though, and I worried about it. Heaton seemed determined to keep Stu locked up for a while. Knowing Stu the way I did, he was probably frantic by now, and desperate not to show it.

Kezia appeared late afternoon, and a little later CID had a briefing. I sat in on that briefing, and suddenly my own problems seemed negligible. It was me, Kezia, two other DCs that I didn't recognise who were introduced as Mark and Lacey, DS Cope, Inspector Weston and Heaton himself. There was a definite tension in the air which I could have put down to Stu's incarceration, but somehow that didn't feel right; Cope was lording over the DCs, me included, in a way that made my hackles rise. If I ever thought that Stu or Max had attitude, Cope was worse.

When the briefing was over, I waited a moment until I could see a direct line to Heaton. I boldly walked over to him.

"Sir, may I go and see Stuart?" It sounded a little bald, and for some very odd reason I felt nervous. He looked at me for a second in silence, as though considering whether I could be trusted. For the first time since I laid eyes on my friend I felt the strongest suspicion of yet another undercurrent...and a picture slid into place.

I looked up at Heaton. Something had changed in that second. And I realised that Stu was the bait in a very, very dangerous game.

"Very well." Heaton's reply was gruff, with a hint of reluctance. I nodded my acceptance, and was rewarded by a brief smile. As I walked away, I wondered exactly what I was letting myself in for, and, more to the point, just what idiot notion had gotten into Stu's head that he could pull this off.


End file.
